


It's just a thing

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Theo Raeken, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Model Stiles Stilinski, Neckz 'n' Throats, Photographer Peter Hale, Protective Peter Hale, Revenge, Werewolf Theo Raeken, that stupid thing where they both pretend there aren't feelings, threats and coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: When Peter photographs Stiles for Neckz'n'Throats, their mutual attraction leads to... a thing.A fun, consensual, sexytimes thing.They're not dating. They're not.It's casual.Except, when Theo-fucking-Raeken tries to put his hands where they don't belong, it turns out Peter might be more invested in Stiles's wellbeing than he thought - who knew?
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 145
Kudos: 1535





	It's just a thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/gifts).



> This is a revenge fic for Twist where Theo gets his, pure and simple. I hope you like it, sweetheart!

“No marks, you know I have a shoot tomorrow,” Stiles protests, squirming where Peter has him pressed against his apartment door and is sucking at his throat. Peter sighs, but stops what he was doing and settles for pressing a more gentle kiss to the sensitive skin of Stiles’s neck.

“You could come inside with me,” he suggests. “I promise I’ll behave.”

Stiles laughs but he shakes his head, just like Peter knew he would. They both know he can’t be trusted to leave Stiles unscathed - hell, the reason Peter doesn’t photograph Stiles for Neckz'n'Throats is that Peter knows he’s incapable of taking pictures of Stiles without wanting to drag him into the back rooms of the studio to fuck him senseless. (Stiles still refers to that memorable occasion as their first date, even though they’re not dating, not really. Peter doesn’t date. They just have a ...thing.)

A thing where they go out to dinner and the occasional movie, and if Stiles isn’t working Peter sucks bruises into his gorgeous pale flesh and makes him beg for more, and then they fuck like bunnies.

A thing.

Peter sighs again, and nuzzles at the dip of Stiles’s collarbone. “Remind me who the photographer is?”

“Some new kid, Theo someone. And before you ask, yes I’m keeping my pants on. It’s all about the neck, which is why,” Stiles tangles his fingers in Peter’s hair and pulls him away from where he’s started to nibble at his throat again, “you can keep your fangs to yourself. I can’t afford to lose work just because you have no self control. I have tuition due.”

Right. Stiles needs this job, is relying on it to get him through college. Peter slumps the tiniest bit. “I’ll have you know I have excellent control,” he pouts, pulling away and taking a step back just to prove it.

Stiles just smirks. “Sure.” He gives Peter a soft kiss, barely a peck. “I’ll come over after I'm done tomorrow and you can have your wicked way with me.”

Peter arches an eyebrow, amused. “My wicked way? What, are we in an eighteenth century romance novel now?”

“Shh you, or I’ll tell my chaperone you saw a glimpse of an ankle,” Stiles says with a grin, and then he’s leaving. Peter pushes down a sudden urge to follow him, drag him back, and offer to pay his stupid tuition so he doesn’t have to keep taking his clothes off for a living. He settles for calling, “Let me know how it goes,” in a way he hopes is casual and won’t clue Stiles in to the fact that Peter’s taking the idea of someone else seeing Stiles shirtless very, very personally.

That pulls Peter up short - he’s not sure where, exactly, that last little burst of possessiveness came from.

It’s just a fling, he reminds himself, and then does what he’s always done when an emotion tries to get the better of him. He ignores it.

* * *

Stiles is up early after a restless night. He would have slept better next to Peter, he knows, but it didn’t seem fair to take advantage of the warmth and security of that solid frame wrapping around him in his sleep when he had no intention of letting Peter take things further-that would just be cruel-and Stiles absolutely cannot turn up for a shoot with hickies, because wolves are weirdly possessive.

Except for Peter, funnily enough. Peter has been quite upfront that this is about sex, not feelings, and Stiles is pretty okay with that. He has enough going on with college and study to have time to spend worrying if anyone else is happy. He thinks of sleeping with Peter as a perk of the job. A sexy, muscled, magic-dicked perk.

It’s honestly a pretty sweet deal to begin with. Stiles gets paid what he considers a ridiculous amount to pose shirtless for tame werewolf erotica, and he’s paid even more for anything even slightly scandalous--an unbuttoned fly pulled half open exposing his treasure trail, or underwear tugged down to show the barest hint of an asscheek. He can’t believe he spent his first year at college working in a deli, right up until Peter had walked in, taken one look, and given him a business card with the Neckz'n'Throats logo in one corner.

Because he never had reined in his impulsive nature, Stiles called and made an appointment for some test shots, still half-convinced it was a joke. When they told him he was perfect and how much they paid, it wasn’t a difficult decision. His only regret is that he wasted a year working for minimum wage when he could have been showing his skinny white ass off and making bank.

He’s a little nervous about working with a new photographer. None of them come close to making him look like art the way Peter did (before their dicks took control and they decided shooting together was too much like torture for both of them), but Stiles has always been happy with the result and the magazine has too, if the paychecks and continued bookings are any indication. There's always that edge of the unknown with a new guy, though. If Stiles is honest he’s partly convinced that someone will call him out as an imposter any day now. _Is it imposter syndrome if you’re an actual fraud?_ he wonders idly.

He drinks his coffee and then stands under the shower until he starts to feel slightly more functional. He uses scent free body wash and makes sure he’s scrupulously clean-he’s not sure if the new photographer is a Were, but Stiles doesn’t want to distract him with artificial scents if that’s the case. He cleans his teeth and dresses, and he has to admit when he looks in the mirror that maybe he’s not a total fraud. Peter certainly thinks he’s pretty enough, tells him constantly, but Stiles is a firm believer that any compliments given during sex should immediately be discounted on account of being dick-driven.

He checks the time, and quickly texts Peter to let him know he’s leaving. Peter didn't ask him to, but Stiles promised his Dad when he took the job that he’d let someone trusted know when he went anywhere for a shoot. (He’s not quite sure when that person became Peter).

Not that he’s had any problems--N’n’T are a professional outfit through and through, and Stiles has found that the horror stories about working with werewolves are, for the most part, bullshit. The only time Stiles has seen so much as a hint of inappropriate behavior was when Peter bent him over the dressing table in the change room and banged him so hard he saw stars--hell, never mind stars, he saw whole galaxies.

Even then, it had been after the shoot and Stiles had explicitly whispered filthy things in Peter’s ear, invited him to do it, because, well. Peter. Why wouldn’t he want to get all up in that? He still feels it was one of his best decisions to date.

Another glance at his watch tells him he’s still early but he leaves anyway--it’s a new photographer, and he wants to leave some time for introductions, get to know the guy a little. He’s worked with half a dozen photographers now and he’s always been more comfortable if there’s at least a hint of a rapport.

At first he’d been insulted that he seemed to get someone new every second shoot, and he’d admitted to Peter in the dark one night that he worried he was a difficult subject, but Peter had just laughed quietly. “Sweetheart, didn't you know? The reason you keep getting switched around isn’t because you’re difficult. It’s because you’re beautiful. They’re all clamoring to be the one to make you look as pretty as I did. Which they can’t, because nobody’s as good as I am.”

“Wow. Ego much?” Stiles had mumbled into Peter’s pec, but the tension inside him had eased.

Peter had pulled him closer. “One day you’ll realize how perfect you are, and on that day you’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles was pretty sure Peter just meant perfect as a skin model for wolves, but it didn’t stop that warm feeling from blooming in his chest. They might only be fuck buddies, but it was still nice to hear that Peter thinks he’s beautiful.

* * *

When Stiles arrives at the studio he’s whisked away into makeup where Erica works her magic, somehow giving him cheekbones to die for and making his hair behave. She’s one of Stiles’s favorite people, smart and sexy and hilarious with her not-quite-inappropriate comments. He’s pretty sure she just leers at him to relax him, and it always works. Today though, she seems lost in thought and barely makes an innuendo, uncharacteristically serious. Finally she says,”So, Theo’s doing the shoot,” and her tone is carefully casual. Stiles doesn’t buy it.

“Yeah. You met him?”

Erica hums.

“What’s he like?” Stiles asks, because it’s not like Erica not to have an opinion.

Erica makes a seesawing motion with her hand. “He was quick to remind me that his uncle runs the company,” she says quietly.

“Okay, good to know. Don’t upset the favorite nephew, huh?”

He expects Erica to laugh, but instead she frowns. “Maybe?” She takes a moment, and Stiles waits. “He’s pretty full of himself. No poking the bear, okay?”

Stiles claps a hand to his chest. “I would _never!”_

Erica arches one perfectly sculpted brow. “Right. You definitely didn’t tell the last guy _take a picture, it'll last longer_ when he was adjusting the lighting on your throat.”

Stiles grins.“That was hilarious, and he thought so too.”

“Maybe. But this guy maybe wouldn’t, is all I’m saying.”

Stiles tilts his head back in the chair with a sigh so she can dust said throat with the powder that makes it gleam under the lights. “Fine. I’ll be nice.”

Erica bops his nose with a powder puff. “Make sure you do.” She steps back and turns Stiles in the chair so she can look at him properly, before giving a decisive nod. “I’d do you.”

Ah, there’s the Erica he knows and loves.

* * *

Stiles dislikes Theo immediately.

From the minute the werewolf shakes his hand and keeps hold just a second too long, his stomach does a backflip and Stiles has to fight the urge to back away. The thing is, Stiles has always had an uncanny ability to sense when someone’s trouble, right from when he was a kid, and Theo’s lighting up all those buttons big time.

He doesn’t let it show though, all too aware of what Erica told him. He plasters a smile on instead, even though his instincts are screaming at him. “Pleasure to meet you, Theo.”

Theo looks him up and down, his smile turning into something like a leer. “Pleasure’s all mine, trust me,” he says, and Stiles’s gut curdles.

The funny thing is, when Peter said _exactly_ the same thing when they first met, it was charming and not at all creepy. Whereas coming from Theo, it’s almost a threat.

Stiles takes his hand back and wipes it unconsciously on his jeans before saying, “Where do you want me?”

And that’s when it all goes to shit.

* * *

When Stiles shows up unannounced at Peter’s door just past noon, he’s pleasantly surprised, but confused.“I thought you were working all day?”

Stiles pushes past him with a muttered, “Didn’t work out.”

“Oh?” Peter asks. It strikes him as odd-everyone wants to work with Stiles.

“Creative differences,” Stiles says shortly, and then he grabs the front of Peter's shirt and pulls him close. “Wanna fuck me?” he asks, face inches from Peter’s, his eyes silently pleading, and Peter instantly knows what this is. He’s no stranger to having bad days and needing to get it out of his system by either fighting or fucking, so he wraps a hand around the back of Stiles’s head and kisses him passionately in reply.

When they break apart he asks, “What do you need, sweetheart?”

Stiles’s breath hitches and he buries his face in Peter's shirtfront, whispering,”Can you - can you be sweet?”

It’s not how they normally do this, Stiles preferring fast and dirty to soft and gentle, and Peter knows then that something’s wrong, but now’s not the time to ask. He puts a hand under Stiles’s chin and tilts it up, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing I’d like better than to take my time, worship you the way you deserve. Shall I make you forget all about today?”

He thinks he sees Stiles’s bottom lip quiver, just for a second, before he buries his face in the side of Peter's neck and takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “make me forget.”

Peter lifts him up, and on a hunch he carries him through to the bathroom, where he sets him gently on the edge of the counter and rubs a thumb over his bottom lip, smudging the last traces of lip gloss. “Let’s get rid of this makeup, I want to see you.”

Stiles nods, and closes his eyes as Peter cleans his face with makeup removal pads and runs a warm washcloth over afterwards. “There's my boy,” he says quietly. Stiles gives him a watery smile, and Peter strips them both down and herds Stiles into the shower, washing him from top to bottom. He frowns when he finds what looks like finger shaped bruises on Stiles’ arm, but before he can ask Stiles shakes his head, and Peter decides to let it go--for now.

Instead he does what Stiles asked him to. He takes him to bed, takes it slow, and makes it good. It’s not like it’s any kind of hardship. He turns his lover into a panting, moaning wreck, explores every inch of Stiles’s gorgeous skin, and makes him come so hard that afterwards Stiles can’t even speak, is only able to make pitiful mewling noises and happy sighs, and then Peter holds him close and strokes his hair until Stiles’s breathing turns deep and even.

Stiles sleeps, and Peter lays awake, wondering what the hell happened today.

* * *

Stiles wakes briefly around midnight. Peter hears him scrabbling round in the kitchen and then he crawls back into bed smelling vaguely of cereal. He doesn’t usually stay over, and Peter finds he likes having a warm body in bed next to him all night more than he thought he would. In the morning Stiles is in a better mood, and he doesn’t seem inclined to bring up the day before, so Peter doesn’t either.

He tells himself that since Stiles isn’t inclined to share it can’t have been anything too dire. Probably just a case of egos clashing. He tries to ignore the niggling voice that reminds him that Stiles doesn’t have an artistic ego, per se-if anything, he’s one of the most accommodating models Peter's ever worked with.

It’s not his business, he reminds himself. He’s not responsible for Stiles’s emotional wellbeing--they’re just friends with benefits. If Stiles wanted him to know, he’d tell him. No, Peter's just going to keep his nose out of it.

His wolf snarls protectively.

Peter tells it to shut up.

* * *

Stiles frowns at the letter from Neckz n Throats informing him he’s been indefinitely stood down. ‘ _Inappropriate behavior_ ’ my ass. What was he supposed to do when Theo tried to pin him down and stick a hand down the front of his jeans, just lie there and take it? All his dad’s years of self-defense training had kicked in and it had been instinctive to pull his leg back and kick Theo square in the nuts--a move that was guaranteed to bring him to his knees, werewolf or not. It had, too. Theo had dropped like a sack of shit and Stiles had hightailed it out of there without saying anything.

In retrospect it was probably a mistake. Theo’s obviously spun some bullshit line, or Stiles wouldn’t be effectively unemployed right now, but at the time Stiles couldn’t stay there another minute. He needed to get away, go somewhere safe until his heart stopped pounding and he stopped replaying the scene in his head. He’s still not sure how he ended up at Peter’s, except that his gut has always told him Peter can be trusted.

Not quite enough to tell him what happened -Stiles doubts there's anyone he’d trust that much- but enough that when Stiles needed to chase away the feel of Theo’s fingers on his skin, needed to be distracted, it was Peter he’d asked, knowing Peter would understand somehow.

And he had.

He’d given Stiles what he needed, and over breakfast the next morning, even though his gaze had lingered on the bruise on Stiles’s arm, he hadn't asked.

Stiles had half expected Peter to corner him in the following days and demand to know what happened but it’s been a week, and nothing. He tells himself it's a relief, even as it stings. It’s not that Stiles wants to talk about it, but he’d thought maybe Peter cared at least a little.

Still. Peter’s the least of his problems right now.

Unemployment’s his most pressing concern. He reads the letter again, scowling. He could appeal, maybe. Go over there and explain. But he already knows he won’t. Theo had warned him, after all, while he pressed him against the wall with an arm twisted up his back. “My uncle runs this place. Say anything and I’ll make sure you never work again,” he’d hissed.

Apparently he hadn’t been exaggerating.

Stiles sighs, throws the letter onto the table, and goes to log into his bank account to try and figure out how long it’ll be before he’s broke.

He tells himself it’s not dire, but on closer examination, he’s forced to admit that there goes any chance of flying out to see his dad for Thanksgiving like he’d promised, or upgrading his laptop, or making a dental appointment, or getting new tires for the jeep--any of a dozen things that he was pretending were luxuries but are actually necessities if he’s honest about it. Plus, tuition and rent and groceries aren't going away anytime soon.

He reassesses. Maybe it is dire after all.

Fuck.

He lets his head drop onto the table with a thunk, and wonders what the hell he’s going to do.

* * *

It’s when Peter’s next at the studio sorting out his shooting schedule that he gets a look at the booking sheet, and he can’t help but notice that Stiles’s name is conspicuously absent. “No Stiles?” he asks Marie, the admin assistant.

She sighs. “I know, it’s such a shame. But apparently you can’t upset Theo and expect to keep your job.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. He’s seen Stiles twice this week and he never mentioned anything about a problem-Peter had only been checking the schedule so he could figure out which night would be best for Stiles to stay over, but now he gets the distinct feeling something’s rotten in the state of Denmark, so to speak.

Peter sits himself on the corner of the desk and rolls his shirtsleeves halfway up his forearms, deliberately casual, knowing Marie will spill the beans while she’s distracted. “Oh? Do tell.” He gives her an easy smile to indicate he’s all ears.

“Well, I heard,” she leans forward, glancing around, “that he turned up drunk to a shoot and came on to Theo, and Theo had to drag him out of there.”

“Drunk?” Stiles doesn’t _get_ drunk. He told Peter that he’d tried it once or twice as a teenager, and he liked it a little too much for comfort, given his dad’s past struggles to stay out of the bottle. Peter knows for a fact that Stiles limits himself to two beers at most. Peter doesn't say any of that out loud, though. Instead he hums noncommittally.

“That’s what I heard,” Marie confirms.”They cancelled all his shoots.”

Peter tilts his head. “Does that seem right to you?”

Marie checks again to make sure they’re alone--a side effect of working with wolves, Peter supposes. “It’s - there’s something not right,” she confides, “it doesn’t sound like Stiles. But I need this job. I can’t afford to ask questions, you know?”

“Hmmm.” Peter stands, stretches, lets Marie get an eyeful of bare skin where his shirt rides up, because she deserves a treat. “You know,” he says casually, “ _I_ don’t need this job. So I can afford to ask questions.”

Marie drags her eyes away from his happy trail at that and gives him a relieved smile. “Good, because someone needs to. I feel like Stiles has gotten screwed over somehow.”

“I do too,” Peter says grimly.

* * *

“Drunk? Absolutely not,” Erica says, giving Peter a hard stare, arms crossed over her chest.

“No, I didn’t think so,” Peter says. “But I thought I’d confirm it with you, since you would have seen him just before he went on set.”

Erica steps closer, her next words barely a breath, meant only for werewolf hearing. “If you ask me, Theo’s tried something, Stiles wouldn’t play along, and this is his revenge.”

“Leave it with me,” Peter breathes back.

And then he goes in search of Theo.

* * *

Peter’s a big name in the Neckz'n'Throats world, so when he tells Theo he’s heard good things about him and would love to meet for drinks that night and talk to him, one professional to another, Theo almost falls over himself at the chance. Peter’s quietly grateful that he and Stiles have kept their thing private, because it means Theo has no clue there’s any connection, and it’s easy enough to take the boy to a bar, feed him enough wolfsbane-laced drinks to loosen his tongue, then steer the conversation towards the pleasure of having gorgeous models in front of you all day.

“Of course, sometimes the temptation gets to be too much,” Peter says with a wink.

Theo nods rapidly in agreement. “Right? Sometimes you just wanna sample the merchandise.”

“Mmmm,” Peter says, “and is there anything nicer than a pretty boy, all wide eyed and starstuck, agreeing to come home with you?”

“Oh, I make sure they agree,” Theo smirks. “A little reminder that my uncle owns the company works wonders.”

“Oh, your uncle’s Jack Raeken? I didn't realize,” Peter lies, while resisting the urge to give Theo a good kick.

Theo finishes his drink before nodding. “Yeah. It comes in handy when someone needs a little extra… persuasion, shall we say.”

“Surely they’d take you up on your offer anyway, lovely young thing like yourself?” Peter presses.

Theo shrugs. “Some of them think that they can say no - which, they’re working for werewolf skin mag, they don’t get to take the moral high ground, right?”

Peter’s hit with a burst of indignation--partly on behalf of his entire profession, but more specifically on behalf of Stiles. He masks it with a pleasant smile. “Most models are only doing it to pay their way through college,” he points out, “and they show less at Neckz than they would at say, Argent’s Wolfbait magazine.”

Theo snorts. “The fact they're broke students makes them even easier to persuade. No play, no pay. I get them blacklisted. Did it to a kid last week--little fucker had the cheek to refuse me, so it’s back to unemployment for him.”

At having his suspicions confirmed, Peter’s gut churns, and his wolf snarls protectively. Peter shoves the reaction down deep, and tilts his head like he’s only mildly interested. “I think I heard something about that. What was his name...Steele, Steve...something like that?”

“Stiles,” Theo grins broadly. “I’ve had him suspended. I'll give it a few weeks till he's broke and desperate and then get him back in the studio. He won't say no twice.” His grin becomes sharper, more dangerous.

It takes all Peter’s willpower not to grind Theo’s smug face into the bar and slash him with a broken bottle. He resists, just barely, because he’s smart enough to know that there’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Or a wolf.

“I’m sure he’s learned his lesson, “ he says smoothly. “Another drink?”

Theo nods his agreement and Peter orders him a double. It’s when he’s halfway through it that Peter says, “You know, if you’re interested, I could show you the ways to make your pictures really stand out. You have the raw talent.”

Theo’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. If you want we can head over to the studio now and I’ll teach you a lesson or two, make sure you’re industry famous in the way you deserve.”

Theo nods, eager. “Tips from the great Peter Hale? I’d be a fool to turn that down.”

Peter grins sharply. “We’ll take my car.”

* * *

Four hours later, Peter’s relaxing with a nice glass of red and congratulating himself on a job well done when his phone pings with a message from Stiles.

_Was it you?_

Peter sends back **I have no idea what you’re talking about** and smiles into his wine.

Five minutes later there’s a pounding at his door. He barely gets it open before Stiles is launching himself forward, sending Peter reeling backwards for just a moment before he manages to get his hands under Stiles’s thighs and steady them both. Stiles kisses him, hard and desperate, and when he pulls away he practically crows, “I can’t believe you did that. Who knew you could be such an absolute bastard?”

“Only when the occasion calls for it, sweetheart,” Peter says, letting a little fang creep into his smile, and then he carries Stiles over to the kitchen counter and deposits him there so he can kiss him properly.

Stiles leans into the kiss and slides his hands down Peter’s back before slipping them into the back pockets of Peter’s jeans, tugging him closer. Peter would like to stay here forever with his boy, but Stiles’s scent is a confusing swirl of arousal and anxiety, and Peter sighs and breaks the kiss. “Stiles? Are you upset with me?”

Stiles looks at Peter, eyes wide, the tang of nervousness in the air increasing. “It’s just-not that I don’t love your handiwork, but why did you do that?”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Stiles, he’s a predator, and if left unchecked he’s the sort of person who’ll give the industry a bad name.”

Stiles bites his lip, and then all Peter can smell is misery as Stiles pulls away. “Oh. Right. The industry.” And then he’s pushing against Peter, trying to make room to get down, get away, his face a picture of raw hurt.

It hits Peter for the first time that maybe he’s not the only one who’s accidentally become emotionally invested--and more importantly, he just made it sound like he doesn’t give a shit about Stiles. His wolf surges to the surface, insistent, snarling at him to _fix this_.

Peter grips Stiles round the waist, holding him in place before he can bolt. “I wasn’t finished, sweetheart. Theo’s predatory scum, yes. But mainly I did what I did because Theo dared hurt someone I care about. He hurt you.”

Stiles stills in his grip. “You-care? I thought you said this was a no strings attached kind of thing?”

“It was supposed to be,” Peter admits with a wry smile, and a tendril of hope grows and unfurls in his chest, “but apparently I’ve come unravelled, and am now made completely of strings that all lead to you.”

Stiles screws up his nose. “What the hell does that even mean? Are you trying to say you like me as more than an occasional fuckbuddy?”

Peter huffs impatiently. “Yes, Stiles. I was trying to be romantic. I’d like to be more than fuckbuddies, as you so crudely put it. Unless I’m reading this wrong and you’d rather stay as we are?” His wolf whines at the thought, and Peter resists the urge to whine as well.

But Stiles relaxes in his hold and the pungent scent of unhappiness eases, gives way to sweeter, happier notes. Peter knows what Stiles’s answer is going to be even before he gives it, and he can’t keep the smile off his face when Stiles grins and says, “Yes, please.”

Peter closes his eyes and pulls Stiles as close as he can, burying his nose in the dip of his collarbone and inhaling, his wolf brain yipping happily, giddy with the scent of _mine_. Stiles’s frame shudders slightly, and is he _laughing?_ Peter pulls back frowning, and he _is_ , the little shit’s shaking with suppressed mirth. “Something funny?” he demands.

Stiles grins widely. “Sorry. Just, I agree to go out with you and the first thing you do is sniff me? I thought you’d take me to bed at least.” He hesitates.” We _are_ dating, right? Just to be clear?”

“We’re definitely dating. And I’m definitely taking you to bed,” Peter assures him. “Now be quiet and let my wolf have his fill.”

Stiles sets his hands slightly behind himself on the counter and rests his weight on them, leaning his head back so his throat’s exposed, deliberate and tempting in a way that makes Peter burn with desire. “If we’re dating, you’d better mark me as yours.”

And Peter thinks dimly that he should probably try and exercise at least some self control, but Stiles is _his_ , and he’s _here_ , and Peter’s wolf _wants._ He leans in and licks a stripe up the side of Stiles’ throat, and then gives into the temptation to suck and worry at the pale skin until it blooms into a deep plum-colored mark that Peter knows will be visible for days. Stiles squirms and whines but doesn’t try and get away, and Peter’s blood thrums through his veins, pulsing with the need to make Stiles smell like nothing but him. “Bed?” he rasps out, breath catching.

“Bed,” Stiles agrees, and lets Peter carry him there.

* * *

Later, after Peter’s left Stiles bruised and marked in the best ways, after they're both fucked out and boneless, they sit slumped against each other, bedding puddled round their waists.

Stiles flicks through his phone looking at the pictures Erica sent him, giggling at every new detail he notices. “So tell me how you did it,” he says, “got him to the studio I mean.”

Peter stops nuzzling Stiles’ throat long enough to answer. “I told him I’d give him a lesson or two on how to make his pictures stand out and make sure he got the attention he deserved. He jumped at the chance. And after I’d finished with him, I texted Jack saying I’d noticed there were lights on at the studio. I called Erica and asked her to be there as a witness, just in case Uncle Jack was feeling charitable, or Theo spun him a line. Plus, I knew Erica would send you pictures.”

Stiles points at the screen, grinning. “This is my favorite.” It shows a wide eyed Theo, ball gag in place, with tear tracks clearly visible on his face. He’s expertly tied so he can’t move an inch from where he’s been positioned on his knees, legs spread wide, naked and wearing a cock cage. Someone’s taken a sharpie and written across his right thigh in bold letters

**This little boy can’t keep his cock under control.**

There's a sign hanging around his neck, like those dog shaming ones, that says

**He won’t take no for an answer**

When he first saw it Stiles had laughed way too hard at the idea of dog shaming a wolf, but if he’s honest, his laughter was mainly fueled by the lightness in his chest caused by finding out that Peter did care after all.

Because just for a moment there, Stiles had misunderstood, thought Peter’s main concern was the studios’ reputation, and it had been like a knife to the heart. But then Peter had insisted that no, he’d done it for Stiles, because Stiles was _his_.

Peter Hale, self-professed king of casual relationships, went out of his way to lure Theo into the studio, hogtie him and photograph him in a variety of humiliating positions, and then made sure he was found by the studio owner and an independent witness. And he did it all for Stiles.

To say Stiles is feeling pretty fucking special right now is an understatement.

He nudges Peter. “Tell me more.”

Peter sighs. “I've told you all you need to know, sweetheart. Theo’s out, you’re back, and there’ll be a large check coming your way as an apology.”

“Tell me again,”Stiles insists, “I’ve never had an insanely jealous boyfriend before. It’s hot.” When Peter looks like he’s about to refuse, Stiles adds,”I’ll let you fuck me shifted again,” because that had been hands down the hottest thing ever and it’s really no sacrifice at all for him, but he knows it’s a rare treat for wolf.

“Oh, well, in that case,” Peter says, and leans back against the headboard, lacing his hands behind his head. “First, I sent the recording of our conversation to Erica as evidence and arranged for her to be at the studio. Then I grabbed that weaselly little bastard from behind and put him in a headlock. He tried to fight me, but he’s weak as a kitten, and when I threatened to bite his cock off if he kept struggling, all the fight went right out of him. And after that? Well, a few more threats of violence soon got him to tell me who else he’d assaulted and sign a confession-Isaac’s probably coming back by the way, and Danny-and then I did a little ropework, gagged him and took pictures, and once he’d pissed himself in fear I left him there to sweat it out. I waited a while to call Jack, left the confession and Theo for him and Erica to find, and came home.”

“You’re the best type of evil, you know that right?” Stiles says, and resumes looking at the pictures. He lets out a small sigh. “I’m not sure I feel safe going back, though. What if Theo’s not the only creep? It’s a shame, because the money was...” he gives a chef's kiss.

Peter hums. “What if you were only photographed by me?”

Stiles thinks about it. He loved the one shoot they did together, and those pictures had been breathtaking. And he’ll definitely feel safe. But. “Can you take my picture without fucking me, though? We found out that first time that you have no self control.”

“Correction-I’m perfectly capable of self control. I just chose on that particular day not to exercise any, because you were gorgeous and consenting and there was no reason to deny myself.”

Stiles tilts his head, considers. “I mean that’s true. I did want to climb you like a tree.”

“Exactly.” Peter extends an arm in invitation where he’s still propped up, and Stiles drops his phone on the bedside table and dives into the space, cuddling in close. “I must admit, my wolf doesn’t like the idea of anyone but me taking your picture. In fact I’d suggest you retire and I pay your bills, but that would be hypocritical of me.”

“Damn straight it would.” Stiles gestures his body, “and it would be depriving the werewolf world of all this.”

Peter lets out a low growl that rumbles through his chest and makes the muscles vibrate under Stiles’s cheek-Stiles probably shouldn't find it as arousing as he does. “They can look, but they can’t touch,” Peter says firmly. “Only I get to touch.”

“Well obviously,” Stiles tries and fails to suppress a grin. “What do you think will happen to Theo?”

Peter hums. “Jack called me before you came over. From what he tells me, he’s never liked Theo. He only gave him the job as a favor to his mother and is disgusted in Theo’s behavior. He’s vowed to make sure he'll never work again.”

“Yeah?” Stiles lets himself enjoy the petty glee he feels hearing that.

“Mhmm. Werewolf erotica’s a close knit industry- those photos will be leaked.”

Stiles props himself up on one elbow. “Who would do such a thing, I wonder?”

Peter gives a wicked smirk. “Jack’s already done it.” He shuffles down the bed till he’s flat on his back and grabs Stiles round the waist, hoisting him on top of him in a show of strength that makes Stiles go weak at the knees and makes his dick perk up. “Now, I believe certain promises were made? Or am I letting the wolf out for nothing?” He stretches, shifting as he does so, and Stiles finds himself staring at fangs, a ridged brow, and flashing gold eyes.

Stiles leans down and kisses Peter softly around his fangs. “Promises _were_ made. And I’m a man of my word.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, you may have noticed I've been quiet for the past month or so. it's because...drumroll please..I've been writing a book with Discontentedwinter! It's out on July 30th, and if you head on over to my tumblr you can read all about it!  
> [Bunnywest](https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/post/621890807185752064/missmaladicta-bunnywest-we-have-a-release)


End file.
